Blog entry with no name.

Far too tired to blog this evening. And I'm bloody annoyed that my poem and commentary didn't land in my inbox after I emailed it to myself from work. I work on some of this stuff while at work you see. I never get too involved when there - just sketching and tweaking, I don't think even I could pull off having a focused, head stuck in, deep session whilst I should be filing reports and sending in returns for this and that. But the bits and pieces I did today are pretty much wasted as my intention was to give whatever it was the deluxe thinking treatment tonight now I'm ensconced in my study for an hour or so. And no email. I'm thinking, theorizing really, that those chaps in IT are intercepting my emails and - what's the word - imprisoning them (not the word I was looking for) and compiling a file of evidence that will prove I'm wasting company time at work writing short stories and hatching poems from my sub conscious when I should be working. I wont have a leg with which to kick my arse if that's the case, and I'll be down the road next week clutching my cards. Do people still collect their cards I wonder?

What was that bloody word? Corralling, no. Sequestering. No that's not it either. Tired brains are not good for vocabulary selection, ergo not good for writing unless you can write your way to liveliness, which to be fair, I have done before. Damn, it nearly came to me then. Sectioned. No, that's what happens when it's proved that you're mad. It's when something is separated segregated and stored. It'll come to me. It always does. I'm on a writing course damn it! Isolating. No, not that either, dumb-ass. Quarantine! That's it. My emails are probably being quarantined. *wipes brow* *prepares for bed*